Survival Poem by Patrick Czyz

A distant beast bellows with pangs and aches.
He draws nearer and nearer to the prey.
It must be done.
We don't philosophize here.

Crawling ahead on well balanced limbs,
His claws then reach for the victim of circumstance.
He is not judgmental in his choice.
He is judicious in his ways.

The real world is mean.
Its mess is fowl and unclean.
But don't take it personally to heart,
Lest fate be assigned a grudge of mal-intent.